Inconsolably Broken
by BlackKat99
Summary: He looked at her, really looked, and she was frighteningly, desperately, irreparably beautiful. And it that moment, that moment that seemed so far from reality their lips met and they kissed.


Inconsolably Broken

Bandages and Creams

She was inconsolable, broken. Her hits sprayed blood along the floor like the sound of a whip cracking echoing throughout her mind. She beat the Winter Solider mercilessly. A gun lay rejected around the corner and knives were all scattered and untouched, she used only her hands. Her hair, her once flawless cascade of red curls was matted with blood and her body suit slashed. Yet he couldn't notice, any of it. He was too busy being paralyzed with her eyes. Her eyes as dark as he had ever seen them, as empty and hallow. There was anger there, an anger so deep that it had turned into an uncontrollable rage free of emotion, a psychopathic rage, a rage that would come if everything had been unjustly ripped from your clutches. And as his eyes flicked to the arrow necklace lying on the floor he realised that perhaps for her everything nearly had. She seemed as if she was following orders, robotic almost and yet was uttering something, feverishly. It was only as Steve came closer that he fully understood. Abruptly she broke, her eyes became wild and her hits more random.

"He killed him. He murdered him. Clint's gone," she screeched her eyes far away, staring at some distant place, some distant memory. There was heaviness about her; her usual light deadly touch was replaced with a harder more uncontrollable one. Steve could feel himself twitching slightly, turning away almost. It was hard to see her like this, unsettling. Then her cries went silent. She had switched again. Crossed lanes in a high-speed car chase. The atmosphere was different too. He knew what this meant. And just as Natasha picked up the dagger next to her foot he launched himself at her. Shoving her off Bucky and rolled onto the floor.

"No Natasha no. I saved Clint, he's okay. Everyone's okay," he assured firmly, his heart pounding in his ears. Natasha was hurt, her hands scraped and bleeding but not, not from Steve, he had intertwined her in him, protecting from harm. His warm breath tingled against his cheek. Steve's mouth was dry, he realised he had been calling her name for many minutes. His body was pressing against hers as she lay under him. His nose practically touching her flushed cheeks. He looked at her, really looked, and she was frighteningly, desperately, irreplaceably beautiful. And it that moment, that moment that seemed so far from reality their lips met and they kissed.

Their kiss was strong, hot, sweet and hard. Steve couldn't remember something filled with such power and hunger and desperation. Yet there was also a subtle sweetness, fragility that he had never known her to posses.

Natasha was sick of it, of always being unsure, unsure of whom she is fighting for, unsure of whom she is, unsure of everything and everyone else. And so she kissed him, even though it would destroy something so successful, a friendship so perfectly aligned and even though it would in the end take from her more than it would give, she kissed him. Because of everyone who had done some good she was most sure of Steve. The kiss was nothing, nothing in the scheme of things, in the scheme of all the galaxies and alien life that swarmed the universe, nothing. And yet as they kissed somehow it felt like everything. Everything.

It was ironic Steve thought, that such a hard, passionate kiss was based on so weak foundations. When Bucky cried out in pain the kiss, the moment it all shattered into just fragments of a memory. Natasha had disappeared from underneath him to by the door before he could ask her what it all meant. Her hands rested on the doorknob. Unreadable she turned and stared at him. Her eyes had an emptiness, a vacancy that scared him. Flicking her eyes to Bucky she commanded,

"Help him. He needs immediate medical care. Goodnight Captain." Then swiftly she disappeared behind the door. Steve's heart felt weak in her wake. His eyes travelled to Bucky's. Sharply he inhaled as he fell victim to the sight of Bucky's destroyed body. A terrible guilt welled within him. For he had forgotten to be angry with her for beating Bucky and had forgotten Bucky's injuries as he had kissed her. Bucky looked up at him, with all the effort in the world and all his energy, and in his eyes Steve could see what he was saying;

"She's a tough trouble that one." And as he stared down at the mess of Bucky Steve couldn't help but agree. Slowly he lifted Bucky from the ground and carried him from the room. Not however before he noticed that the arrow necklace was gone.

That's when he knew, that of all the Avengers Natasha was the toughest and the most broken.

The walls were frayed and rusty. The room cluttered with objects that appeared to be from an antiques shop. Steve didn't mind this safe house and if what had just happened hadn't he probably would have loved it. Loved the way it didn't have metal walls and black furnishings like so many of the others, loved how it reminded him of home and how he could almost kid himself, if just for a moment, that he had never been trapped beneath the ice. It was Natasha who erupted him from his delusions, her ability to make him feel unlike himself, her ability to turn the cluttered room into a place of business. Every time he heard her near by his eyes would instinctively to turn to watch her, to see if she was looking at him or avoiding him. The thing was she hadn't done either since he'd taken Bucky to Fury. Instead she'd looked him with a supportive expression and a small smile. It made him feel degraded and weak, like he was nothing to her. He wanted to kiss her again, but he couldn't not if she… if she didn't want that. The mission of finding and bringing Bucky in had been a challenge. Fury had called in Clint to go ahead and scout the area, Clint had seen and opportunity and attempted to go in by himself. Clint is now in hospital, just out of critical condition. His heart had stopped and Natasha… she was like Steve had never seen her, so distraught. Steve realised that he had kissed her in a moment of weakness, of vulnerability. Guilt flooded him. He wished then he could stop it, the other feelings in his heart, but she was Natasha…Tasha…Nat… and the things he felt for her, they were dangerously real.

The door was cracked slightly open and he could see her, shimmering in the moonlight streaming in from the window. He wondered if she knew he was watching her, and then he scrutinized himself forever being so foolish the Black Widow always knew, he wondered now if she cared that he looked. In a lot of ways he wished he hadn't, but his heart longed to be near her, to see her, to understand anything and everything about her so his wishes were irrelevant. Something deep within him crumbled, some reserved faith in humanity began to fade as he bore witness to the horrendous rainbow of colours that covered her back. Dried blood was splattered along the various slashes. Bruises that reminded him of his 'new world' suit and off yellow inflammation were spreading along her skin. Natasha was gritting her teeth, he could see that there was obviously immense pain for her face was slightly clenched, but there was a monotonous feel to her actions, there was no questioning look in her eyes, instead she was repeating something done so many times before. It made him want to scream and hit something so hard that the bones in his hand would shatter. He want to hold her, to fix her and swear that all of this, that any of this would never happen again. He wanted her to let him in and to be free of all her pain and he wanted to free her. He couldn't though, he couldn't swear away the demons, stop the violence, make her open up and most of all he wondered if he could ever kiss her. Ever again. So quietly Steve gathered various bandages and creams, placed them lightly down outside the door and then he walked heavily to another room where he stopped. Where Steve cried, silently, for Natasha and for his powerlessness to save her.

Natasha could feel Steve's eyes trailing her, analyzing her. For a moment, for just a moment her curiosity got the better of her and she wondered, what he was seeing. Her body ached, burned, hurt badly, just because she had survived much worse, didn't make the pain fade away. Didn't make the broken ribs less painful, she just wasn't as scared. She hadn't been really scared in years. Attentively she slipped her t-shirt back over her head. It was nothing, the kiss, she reminded herself, and the mantra lost all meaning. Something like that…She didn't want to ponder it. It was foolish, so foolish. She'd kissed him because well he looked the way he does and is so inherently good. So unbelievably honourable and she'd never kissed someone like that. No one truly honourable had ever wanted to kiss the Black Widow. So when she kissed him it was an experiment and wasn't supposed to feel so right, so amazingly pure. It wasn't supposed to make her feel alive, innocent and so very free. But as she scrubbed the stains of blood so deeply ingrained in her hair the sink filled with light red water Natasha knew, what she had always known; there was no place in this universe for a solider and a spy.

That night when Steve woke there was an eerie noise as if a blanket was muffling the sound of something. And as he stepped out of his den of safety beneath the covers he noticed that the old shutters were open and there was a note blowing under a doorstopper on the table. _Mission Complete, _it read_._ He ran to Natasha's room, but what remained was only a neat pile of bandages and creams.


End file.
